


Labyrinth 1

by ladykardasi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 06:31:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10871073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladykardasi/pseuds/ladykardasi
Summary: Unfinished. Previously archived at inkstained fingers under my old pseudonym kira-nerys





	Labyrinth 1

## Labyrinth 1

by [ladykardasi](mailto:crochetalong@gmail.com)

  
  


**PART ONE**

"Professor Potter. I fail to see your point. As usual, your thought processes are somewhat muddled," Severus Snape pointed out, as his sharp features schooled themselves into a disdainful sneer. The black eyes regarded Harry impatiently. 

Harry looked at his former teacher with exasperation. It was as though Professor Snape refused to even listen, so why did he bother? Why did he even try to make Snape see the light? During his seven years as a student at Hogwarts, he had gotten along fairly well with all of his teachers - except Snape. Snape was ... insufferable. With the last of his patience, Harry struggled for the right words to say. 

"Students need guidance, Professor," Harry replied and continued with a black look at Snape. "They don't need to be frightened into submission. That way they'll never learn anything significant. Just look at Neville." 

Neville had never amounted to anything, and Harry held a strong belief that Snape was partially responsible for the nervous breakdown that Neville Longbottom had suffered mere months after leaving Hogwarts. He was now at St. Mungos, just like his parents. If only Snape had ... 

"Mr. Longbottom was a species unto himself," Snape interrupted Harry's musings but pulled his gaze away. "As teachers, we all need to sort out the bad seeds, which Neville certainly proved to be." 

No one around the table said anything. Not even Harry. Neville had perhaps not been a bad seed in the true sense of the word, but his nervousness and incompetence would have been just as dangerous in the fight against Voldemort. 

"... and my teaching methods have never failed me before. I do not see why I should change them now, simply because you wish me to." Snape's black hair hung in stripes around his face, still black as the night sky. He hadn't exactly grown younger since Harry was a student, but he didn't seem to have grown any older either. 

The silence around the table was deafening, and Harry fidgeted in his chair. The meetings that took place right after classes twice a week were held in order to air any concerns teachers had with their students, but lately, they had often transformed into arguments between him and Snape. Harry sighed. 

"Come now, professors," said the Headmaster. "Do not argue. We must finish the curriculum for the next month of classes today." 

Harry flinched as he watched the tired faces of his colleagues. McGonagall looked less understanding than she had previously at these meetings, as though even her patience was wearing thin. Hermione shot him a stern look, as though she was trying to will him to be quiet. She had replaced Professor Flitwick in Charms classes the year before. Flitwick always had a soft spot for Hermione and was delighted when she'd become his successor. It had been good to see Hermione again, but right now it was pretty obvious that she wasn't too happy with him. Harry wondered why she couldn't see things his way. Snape was really being unreasonable and should let up on some of his students. Of course, it wasn't the first day they sat here, arguing like this. Harry had hoped to get through to Snape, but it was like talking to a brick wall. He would never see reason. Stubborn son of a ... 

"Harry," Hooch started. "We all have our methods in teaching. You must let Professor Snape deal with his students in a way he sees fit. He has been a teacher here for many years." 

Snape shot him a triumphant look that made Harry seethe, but he saw Hooch's point, and it stung, hearing his former Quidditch teacher correct him like that in front of the rest of the teachers, and suddenly Harry realized that perhaps it was better not to discuss this among the rest of the staff. He hadn't realized how this might make Snape feel, and even if the man was a bastard, he was one of the teachers for whom Harry should show respect, especially if he expected Snape show him the same courtesy. 

Harry sighed again and looked down on his fingers, laced together on the table in front of him. They were stiff from the way he'd clenched his hands in an attempt to control himself. Obviously, he hadn't succeeded - today either. He'd entered the room with the firm decision not to bring this up again. But look at them now. And for the first time, he felt somewhat ashamed of his inability to let this go. 

Harry really wanted to get through to Snape and make him realize how wrong he was, that no child would become better at his or her studies by being degraded, shouted at, or ridiculed. He would have to speak with Snape privately. He saw no other solution to this problem. 

"Very well," Harry said tiredly. "I will not bring this up again." 

"Thank you, Mis... Professor Potter," Snape said, the low voice sinking into the condescending tone it always seemed to have when addressing him. Harry shuddered and drew his gaze away from Snape's black eyes. 

Harry had a sudden, inexplicable urge to act childishly, to stick his tongue out at Snape and scream. Of course, it wouldn't help his case. Snape seemed to continuously forget that he was a grown man. Either Snape ignored the fact that Harry had not been a student at Hogwarts for almost seven years; that he'd been studying Defense of the Dark Arts away from the Wizarding school for almost four years, and that he'd been the DADA teacher for three years now, or he just plain forgot about it. 

It never ceased to amaze Harry how Snape still kept referring to him as Mister Potter on occasion. He narrowed his eyes at Snape. Perhaps Professor Snape was doing it on purpose? Just to spite him. The older man looked away haughtily when Harry scrutinized him with narrowed eyes. Harry wondered how it was that this suspicion hadn't occurred to him before? 

The rest of the meeting went on without much disruption, and the curriculum for the next month was decided upon. It was really just a formality, so when they were done, Harry rose from the table and left the room. 

He walked through the halls, deep in thought, twisting and turning his problem over and over in his head. Trying to argue with Snape when all the teachers at Hogwarts were gathered was obviously not his best option. He probably should have learned that by now, but for some reason, his temper grew steadily worse whenever he was in Snape's proximity. When he had first arrived at Hogwarts, it hadn't been so obvious, even to himself, but over the years it had escalated to the point where he could barely be in the same room with the man. 

It was as though mere closeness to Snape made Harry's skin itch, his hands clench, and his throat close up. He wanted to scream at the man, hit him or ... just react somehow. It was rather unsettling when you thought about it. But Harry was at a loss as to how to deal with it. The best way he had found so far was to try and avoid Snape as much as possible, but ... it was difficult to do that when they were both teachers at the same school. 

"Professor Potter." 

The sneer was still there, and set Harry's teeth on edge. He jerked to halt and turned slowly around to meet Snape's eyes. 

"Yes, Professor. What is it?" Harry knew his voice was quite cold and distant, but he just wanted to get away from Snape, like right now. Preferably sooner. 

"We need to discuss Mr. Gardner." 

Gardner. Harry sighed. Snape was right. They did have to discuss this student. Jonas Gardner was failing miserably in both Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, which was quite remarkable considering the boy's intelligence and his grades in all the other classes. Contacting Jonas' parents and discussing the issue with them had not helped, and Harry knew that he and Snape had to work together on the problem. 

"Ah, yes," Harry agreed reluctantly. "Jonas." 

"He reminds me of someone I know," Snape said disdainfully. "Gardner is quick to jump into situations he has no previous knowledge of. He often draws conclusions that are frighteningly off target, and he has a tendency to dream his classes away instead of listening to the teacher and is completely without regard for his fellow students. He gets into situations that put his friends in harm's way." 

Harry bit his tongue, refusing to take the bait. 

"Any suggestions on how to help this fellow?" Harry said instead, and lengthened his stride. Blissfully, he'd grown out of his short stature once he got into adolescence and was now as tall as the Potions master, so Snape had to hurry to keep up with him. It gave Harry some satisfaction, however petty, and he couldn't quite suppress the grin when he heard the irritability in Snape's voice. 

"Could we sit somewhere and discuss this? I haven't the inclination to chase you around Hogwarts in an attempt to solve our problem." 

Harry bit back the automatic response that was at the tip of his tongue. 

"Very well," he said. "Let's go to my quarters." 

Snape looked at him with surprise. "I'm flattered, Potter. Are you sure you don't mind inviting me into your own sanctuary? I may hex your quarters or pour some vile potion in your bed." 

Hearing Snape talking about beds made Harry's mind conjure up images he didn't want to look at too closely. His breath hitched, and he had to swallow before he managed to speak. 

"I may not like you, Snape," Harry said irritably. "But I do trust your integrity. Now, are you coming or not?" 

* * *

"I believe we need to keep a closer eye on Mr. Gardner," Harry said tiredly. "He's failed the two last tests I have given out, and he is constantly late for class." 

"Indeed," Snape said thoughtfully. "I am curious what is causing it. He has not had these problems before." 

"When did you notice his ... distraction?" Harry wondered and tried to remember when he, himself, had noticed that Jonas Gardner seemed less inclined to follow what was happening in class. 

"At the beginning of the school year. Something must have happened early this semester to provoke this distracted behavior." 

"Yes, but what? What is it specifically about our classes that affect him so negatively? Both Professors Sprout and McGonagall have said that Gardner is still doing very well in their classes." 

"I wasn't aware of that," Snape admitted and rose from the chair. He started pacing Harry's quarters. For some reason it didn't irritate Harry as much as he'd expected. It seemed as though Snape had relaxed the second he'd entered the dining area. And he seemed to ... fit... in here somehow, but Harry didn't want to examine that thought too closely. "It troubles me that I didn't know this." 

"Have you tried talking to the boy?" Snape asked. 

"Yes, I have. He won't speak to me. He gets awfully pale and then refuses to talk to me. I can't force it out of him. What about you?" 

"No, I have not tried to bring up the subject with him," Snape admitted. "As you well know, I am not the first professor the students come to for guidance, and he is a Gryffindor after all. I doubt he would talk to the head of Slytherin." 

Harry nodded. "I see your point. But we have to do something." 

Snape nodded. 

"I think we need to discuss things more regularly, Professor," Harry said reluctantly. "We have to set aside our personal differences and start communicating about our students, or things like these are bound to escape our attention." 

"As much as I am loath to admit it, I agree," Snape said. 

"All right. How about we set up two meetings a week, after the regular teacher's conferences where we talk about our students, particularly Gardner?" 

Snape nodded. "Now that we are both aware of the problem, I suggest we keep a close eye on him." 

"I agree," Harry said and looked at Snape. He seemed far less imposing when he was pacing back and forth in front of Harry's kitchen table. The prickling irritation that always seemed to accost him when Snape was around had lessened somewhat, and Harry relaxed a little. 

"I'll see you again, on ... Thursday afternoon then?" Snape said. 

Harry nodded, and Snape turned, his robes billowing around his lithe figure as he left Harry's quarters. 

They seemed strangely empty after he had left. Harry frowned. 

* * *

"Potter!" Snape called out as he caught up with him outside the DADA classroom the next afternoon. "What is the meaning of this?" 

"The meaning of what, exactly?" Harry asked as he locked the classroom for the day. His hands were trembling in the effort not to snap at the potions professor. They hadn't seen each other for two days, and for that Harry was grateful. 

"Gardner did not show up for my lesson today," Snape accused. 

"And that's my fault, how?" Harry asked and felt his skin crawl in annoyance. Snape always jumped to conclusions and if anything, anything at all, at Hogwarts went wrong, Harry could be sure that Snape would blame him. 

Today he had even less tolerance for Snape's accusations than usual. His head was hurting, and he was afraid that it might forebode something more sinister than a simple headache. The ache so far was diffuse, but pulsing in the vicinity of his scar, like a precursor to the mind numbing pain that crashed over him when Voldemort was awakening. He debated whether he should talk to Dumbledore about it, but pushed the thought away as he finally turned to Snape. 

"You could have informed me that Gardner hasn't been around." 

"He showed up at my lesson as usual. He kept looking at me strangely, but he was there," Harry said, and forced his voice to remain calm. "Now, you're telling me he never went to the Potions class?" 

"Are you hard of hearing? That is what I said, isn't it?" 

"Did you talk to him at all about how he's doing in your classes?" Harry asked. 

"Yes," Snape straightened his back and looked at Harry down his nose. It was pretty obvious to Harry that this talk didn't go over too well. 

"What did you say to him?" 

"I told him he would need extra tutoring if he did not pay more attention." 

"Right," Harry said. He didn't doubt that this was the essence of Snape's words, but he doubted very much that it was delivered in such a ... non threatening way. 

"And who did you say would be his tutor?" 

"Me of course." 

"That'd scare off anyone," Harry muttered. 

"I would not hurt a student at Hogwarts," Snape pointed out icily. 

"No, but you sure act like you could," Harry pointed out. "You scared the living daylights out of me when I was a student." 

"And I don't anymore?" Snape inquired coolly with an arched brow. 

Harry frowned. No, in fact, he didn't. Perhaps that was as good an explanation as any to why he and Snape argued so much nowadays. Snape didn't scare him anymore. He was just...annoying. 

"No, you don't." Harry pointed out and met Snape's gaze determinedly. He was surprised to see the strangely pleased look in the other man's eyes before Snape's face closed up in its usual expressionless way. 

Harry sighed. "All right. Let's go look for him." No matter how annoying Snape was, Harry was genuinely worried about Jonas Gardner. His attention in class had deteriorated even more over the last few days. 

They walked through the corridors of Hogwarts in silence, and Harry shivered as a draft made Snape's robes billow around him, accentuating his tall, slender figure. He shook off the thought and turned his attention to the halls. It was quite empty, as dinner was soon going to be served in the Great Hall. 

"Perhaps he has gone to eat?" Snape suggested, but his voice held an unusual hesitancy. 

"I doubt it," said Harry, and furrowed his brow in concern. "I don't understand what's going on with Jonas Gardner." 

"He is a Gryffindor," said Snape as if that would explain everything. 

"Indeed he is, and that's why it bothers me that he won't talked to me, or Albus. It's not as though I haven't tried before." 

* * *

They found Gardner sitting in the Astronomy tower, glancing out through the window with a tired expression on his face. 

"Why didn't you show up to my lesson today?" Snape growled. 

Reflexively, Harry reached out in an attempt to calm Snape. A strange feeling of rightness flowed through Harry at the sensation of the older wizard's sinewy muscles underneath his hand. He pulled away quickly, but not before had Snape shot him a puzzled, and rather distrustful look. 

On the other hand, the expression on Gardner's face was priceless. He looked both scared and excited at the same time. If Harry hadn't been so worried about the student it would have been amusing. 

"Take it easy, Professor Snape," Harry said. "I'm sure Jonas will inform us of what's wrong, won't you?" 

Gardner just looked at them both back and forth, blushed furiously, and rose. 

"I can't!"  
Then he ran off. 

"Gardner!" Snape bellowed, but the boy was gone and Snape turned towards Harry with a scowl on his face. "Look what you did!" he hissed. "If you hadn't interrupted me, I would have found out what is wrong with him. Your delicate touch is pathetic." 

"I think that he might have talked to me, if you hadn't given him that patented glare of yours!" Harry hissed right back. It felt good, finally letting his anger at Snape have free reign. 

Snape scowled at him, turned around and strode off. 

Harry remained where he was, seething. He did really need to talk to Jonas Gardner, but the boy was evidently avoiding him. 

Harry spent several hours trying to find Gardner, in the common rooms, in the library - everywhere, but he was nowhere to be found. He was about ready to use the Marauder's Map - if he'd still had access to it, which he didn't of course. 

**PART TWO**

Dumbledore turned the parchment over in his hands once more. It was filled with symbols that he barely recognized. Some part of his mind told him he should know what they were, that he should recognize them, but the knowledge was tickling at the edges of his consciousness, elusive and just out of his grasp. He had no choice but to summon the rest of the teachers at Hogwarts. Perhaps one of them could come up with a solution, or at least one of them might know what it was? 

* * *

"It is of the utmost importance that we decipher these symbols," Dumbledore said. 

"Where did it come from?" Hermione asked. "I can't remember reading about this kind of script anywhere." Harry couldn't help but smile at the frown on Hermione's face. She just hated not knowing. 

"It was brought to us by the Elves, and they told me that it is very, very old," Dumbledore explained, and then his facial expression turned somber. "One of their Elders died a few days ago," he finally said. 

A surprised gasp escaped Harry's mouth. The Elves were long lived, some said that they were immortal, and the death of one of them was unheard of. 

"Yes, Harry. We should be in awe of having lived to hear of such a thing," Dumbledore said. "But among the possessions left by Vellinar, this parchment was found, and the Elvin council claims that it holds the key to Voldemort's final defeat." 

Voldemort. 

They had fought against the Dark Lord so many times, thought that he was defeated, only to see him return. Harry had almost lost hope that they would ever destroy the Dark Lord for good. The evil power that gave life to Voldemort seemed to be drained only temporarily. No matter what the forces of Light did, Voldemort kept returning, stronger than before. 

"How do they know that?" Snape said suspiciously. 

"One of the Elders had a premonition when touching the parchment. That is how they realized how important this is, and this elf also claimed that the parchment would be most useful in the hands of Harry Potter and yourself, Professor." 

This caused another stunned silence, but Snape seemed to be the first to regain equilibrium, and Harry could sympathize. It wasn't the first time they fought side by side against Voldemort after all. It appeared the future would hold more such battles for them. 

"But why was Vellinar holding on to it?" Snape asked. 

"I have no answer to that question," Dumbledore admitted. "Sometimes, the Elves grow old and forgetful. Imagine living for centuries, or perhaps millennia. It is not so strange that they sometimes lose knowledge they once had. Or perhaps he was simply waiting for the right time. Perhaps the parchment wasn't meant to be found until Vellinar passed away." 

"But something so important?" McGonagall said disapprovingly. "What if nobody had found it?" 

"Yes, it is most curious," Dumbledore admitted. "Perhaps Vellinar was trying to hide it. If this comes into Voldemort's possession, we are in quite a bit of trouble." 

Harry felt his stomach drop. Dumbledore looked very disturbed by this fact, and serious. 

"Maybe even Vellinar didn't know the significance of the parchment?" Hermione suggested. 

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, but did not sound convinced. "It may also be that the parchment had a magical spell cast over it." 

"What kind of spell?" Hermione's eyes knit together in curiosity, and Harry could practically see her brain kicking into gear. 

"According to the messenger who brought this, the parchment had a cloaking spell on it, which means the text only very slowly over a period of several days became visible after Vellinar died as the magical protection evaporated," Dumbledore explained. 

"It makes perfect sense," Snape suggested. "If the spell was cast by Vellinar, it would be broken at his demise." 

"I can sense the magic emanating from it now," Hermione said. 

"I doubt there is a wizard who does not," Dumbledore admitted seriously. 

They all knew what that meant. 

"That means the parchment is practically calling out loud for any wizard out there - including Voldemort himself?" Harry asked. 

"Yes." Dumbledore admitted and pulled at his beard distractedly. 

"I am not sure," Harry begun, and sighed deeply as he rubbed the scar on his forehead. "But I have been experiencing an odd headache for the past few days. It's not what I'm used to feeling when the Voldemort is active, but it could be a warning." 

"Why haven't you said anything, Harry," Dumbledore said and scrutinized him closely. 

Harry smiled uncertainly. "Because it doesn't hurt the way it usually does," he explained. "It's more like a dull ache, as though the scar is warning me that something might happen soon, but hasn't yet begun." 

"If that is true, it is best to assume that the Dark Lord might soon be active again," Snape said. 

Harry swallowed. Not again. Not again. Partially, he had avoided bringing this up in the hopes that his headache would go away eventually, but after two days of this dull ache, where no pain-numbing potion had helped, he must warn the rest of the teachers at Hogwarts. His scar was one of the best defenses they had against Voldemort, and it would be foolish not to take advantage of it. And Harry was not a fool, no matter how much Snape wanted to think so. 

They had been free of Voldemort for several years now, and Harry had hoped that they had defeated him for good, but all the evidence pointed to the fact that Snape was right. That meant they were all in danger, again. 

Harry lifted his gaze to look at Snape whose hands were clenched so tightly on the table that his knuckles had turned white. Apart from that, nothing revealed Snape's feelings about Voldemort's return. 

Harry and the Potions master would be particularly vulnerable if Voldemort was indeed returning. They had fought the Dark Lord side by side, and because of them, he had been defeated three years ago. This time, Snape could not pretend to work both sides; this time, Voldemort knew that Snape belonged to the forces of Light. Rubbing a hand over his itching scar, waiting for it to burn any time now, Harry realized perfectly well what would happen to someone Voldemort considered a traitor... The thought was oddly disturbing, more so than ever before, and Harry wondered why. 

"He is awakening," Harry said. "I can feel it. It's only a matter of time before he's back and we'd better be prepared." 

A chill traveled through his body as he met Snape's troubled gaze. He and Snape would be at the top of Voldemort's list, for many reasons, but mostly because they were the ones who defeated the Dark Lord the last time. They had been the two wizards that tipped the balance in the final battle. The combined forces of their Avada Kedavras and the use of Voldemort's own wand against him had sealed his fate - for a time. 

Harry wondered what it would take to defeat Voldemort for good. 

"We must be prepared for Voldemort's return," Dumbledore said tiredly. "He will hear the calling of such powerful magic, and if he is strong enough, knowledge about this parchment will come to him - as well as fact that we are working on deciphering it. He will strike against us at the first opportunity. It is only a matter of time." 

"But has anyone been able to decipher even a small amount of the text?" Harry asked. 

"No. The script is foreign to me. Even the Elves had no answer." 

That was curious. After all, the Elves were very knowledgeable and for them to admit that they had not been able to decipher the parchment, or to even recognize the script... 

"May I look at it?" Harry asked and ignored Snape's condescending scowl. It plainly told him that he was mad to think that he would know something that scholars and other more experienced wizards had been unable to understand. 

The parchment was thick, almost like leather, or some kind of skin. Harry moved his fingers over the leathery material and shivered as it tickled his fingertips gently. And the language whispered through his head, silently and as though just out of reach. He couldn't make out the words, but he did know what it was. 

"It is parseltongue," he said, slowly. "I have never seen it written before." 

Dumbledore leaned forward, his gaze trained on Harry intently. Snape stiffened and looked as though he wanted to snatch the parchment out of Harry's hands, but did nothing of the sort. 

"It would make sense that even the Elves would not recognize parseltongue," McGonagall said thoughtfully. 

Hermione's eyes glittered with interest, and Harry squinted. If it was indeed parseltongue, and if he recognized it as such, he should be able to decipher it, shouldn't he? 

"Can you read it?" Dumbledore said, a tinge of hope in his voice. 

Harry looked at the intricate signs - and he was quite sure now that it was written on snakeskin. The text looked like a serpent had slithered across it and left its marks in the wake, long lines broken by single dots, flowing over the texture in fluid, elegant lines. 

"No," he admitted at long last. "It would seem that I don't know how to read parseltongue. I recognize it for what it is, even if I can't explain why. I feel as though I should be able to read the script as well, but I can't." 

"Perhaps you simply need time?" Hermione said. 

"Time is one thing we do not have a lot of," Dumbledore pointed out. "If we cannot translate the text, it is better if we destroy the parchment than allow it to get into Lord Voldemort's hands." 

Harry wanted to protest, but knew that Dumbledore was right. If the text held information about how to defeat Lord Voldemort once and for all, the Dark Lord would be as interested in finding it and understanding it as they were, if only to eliminate the threat to his existence. But they didn't know that was all there was. Perhaps it also contained information on how Voldemort could achieve immortality? In which case it would be in their best interest to destroy the parchment. 

"But you do know the language," Snape hissed. 

"I do, but it comes to me as though from the outside," Harry explained, forcing himself not to snap at the Potions master. "The signs on this parchment make absolutely no sense to me other than the fact that I know what language it is." 

"I believe I may be able to help you with that," Snape said. "Come to my chambers and bring the parchment with you in four hours. I have some things I must prepare." 

"You have forty-eight hours, Professors," Dumbledore said. "After that, the parchment is to be destroyed, at all costs." 

"But why destroy it, Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked. "We don't know what it says." 

"I am sorry, Harry. But if you do not succeed, we must destroy the parchment. Since we do not know what it says, we may assume that it contains valuable information for the Dark Lord." 

"Or it might contain valuable information for us," Harry pointed out. "If we destroy it, we will never know." 

"Potter does have a point," Snape said coolly. 

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "But we must also take into account that the parchment is written in parseltongue, a language more widespread in dark magic than in white. Therefore, we may have gotten our hands on something that is more likely to be of value to Voldemort and his Death Eaters than to us." 

"And you think we cannot afford to take the chance," Snape said. 

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. 

Again, Harry wanted to protest, but held his tongue, and with that, Snape rose from the table and exited the room without speaking further. It took only a few minutes before the rest of them dispersed. Harry remained behind for a few moments. 

Glancing uncertainly at Dumbledore, Harry tried to relax when the old wizard nodded in encouragement. Harry knew that the Headmaster trusted Snape implicitly, but he had never been able to understand why. If there was anyone who could betray them, it had to be Snape... and to trust the Potions master with such an important tool in their fight against Voldemort. Harry knew that he was being biased, and perhaps even unfair, just because he didn't like Snape. Professor Snape had proven himself in the fight against the Dark Lord time and time again, so why, why couldn't Harry relax and trust him? Why? What was it inside him that forced him to stop and bring out all defenses when Snape was around? 

As if sensing his unease and hesitation, Dumbledore waved his hand in the air. "Go on, Harry. Professor Snape might be able to help you." 

* * *

The meeting had made Harry restless, and unable to do anything constructive. He kept pacing his quarters, waiting for Snape to finish with whatever he needed to do. While waiting he kept thinking about Jonas Gardner and decided that he might as well try to do something useful with his time. 

He brought out the Marauder's map and pinpointed Gardner's position. He was back at the Astronomy tower and this time Harry decided to be more cautious in his approach. Perhaps Jonas would finally relent and admit to what was bothering him? 

Harry reached the Astronomy tower minutes later, checking the surroundings carefully. It was fairly dark and he almost missed Gardner where he was sitting in the shadows behind one pillar. He was alone, with his books in his lap. 

"Jonas," Harry said carefully. 

The young boy looked up, his face pale, and he rose, as if to flee. 

"Wait, Jonas. Please. We must talk about what is troubling you. You can't go on failing your exams this way. You're jeopardizing your NEWTs." 

"Please, Professor Potter. I can't talk about it; I can't talk to you now. It's too ... private." 

"You do know that I have an obligation to respect my students' privacy, don't you, Jonas?" Harry said and sank down on the floor in front of Gardner. For once, he was glad of his slender build and by sitting on the stone floor, he was hoping that he would alleviate Gardner's worries and make the boy feel more comfortable. 

"I know, Professor," Gardner admitted and sat again. He looked down at his open book. It was a Potions book. 

"I see that you are studying." 

"I must better my grades," Jonas explained. "If I don't, Professor Snape demands that he tutor me, and I don't think I could stand that." 

"Why is that?" Harry wondered. Gardner had never seemed to have any trouble with Snape before. And never before had his grades suffered because of Snape. 

"I can't talk about it. It's too private," Gardner repeated. 

"Does Professor Snape scare you that much?" Harry frowned. "You do know that he only wants what's best for his students. He would never hurt you." 

Gardner looked up at him with a strange expression on his face. "I know that. I wasn't sure that you did." 

"Me?" Harry was puzzled. "What does this have to do with me?" 

Apart from the fact that Jonas was doing as abysmally bad in his classes as in Snape's of course... 

"Everything," Jonas admitted and rose once again, as though staying still made him nervous. Harry feared that the young boy was leaving, but apparently, Gardner had finally decided to tell him what was wrong. 

"You see, Professor Potter. I am ... empathic." 

"Empathic?" Harry had heard of these kinds of abilities among students who had attended Hogwarts in the past, but he had never encountered an empath before. . 

"Yes, I can read emotions." 

"I know what empathy means, Jonas, but why are you telling me this? Strictly speaking, it isn't something your teachers need to know." 

"It's what's giving me trouble in your classes, Professor." 

Harry nodded thoughtfully. Empathy could be a very tricky ability; he'd heard that much. Being able to block out emotions of people around them was something empaths needed to learn early in their lives or they might - literally - go insane. 

"If you say so, Jonas, I assume that it's true. But would you mind explaining to me why that is?" 

"I'm not sure I should tell you, Professor, or if you and Professor Snape should work out your differences on your own." 

"Are you saying that this involves both of us?" 

Jonas nodded. 

"I see." 

"But you must do something about it, Professor. I am sorry but very soon I will be unable to be in the same room with either of you. I learned how to shield as a very young boy. I have never had problems before, but you and Professor Snape...I don't know how to deal with it." 

Harry sighed. Was their hatred for one another so strong that they were crippling one of their students? 

"I will see what I can do, Jonas. I promise." 

Jonas nodded, and the relief on the young boy's face made Harry feels very guilty. He - and Snape - had apparently been the cause of Jonas Gardner's suffering all along, without even being aware of it. It seemed he and Snape had to work out their differences once and for all, if they didn't want to keep hurting one of their students. 

**PART THREE**

Some time later, Harry entered Snape's chambers cautiously and looked around. It was fairly dark, the only source of light a couple of oil lamps on each wall, sending a flickering, almost comfortable light over their surroundings. A smell of burning wood, herbs and spices hung in the air. It wasn't an unpleasant scent, and Harry stepped further into the rooms, forcing himself not to hesitate. 

"Sit," Snape said curtly and pointed toward a comfortable looking chair in front of the fireplace. 

Harry did as he was told, arranging his robes around him. It wasn't as cold down here in Snape's quarters as he had expected. There was a fire in the fireplace, and the air was much drier than expected. Knowing that interrupting Snape while he was thinking probably wouldn't be a good idea, Harry knew he should remain silent. Still, the questions burned on his tongue. 

"What are you planning?" he asked and put the parchment on the round table beside him. 

"I know there is a potion I can use for this. I'm sure of it." Snape sounded more like he was talking to himself, rather than Harry, and his voice held nothing of the usual sneer. "I must only find the book in which the potion is written down. I think this might have been it." 

Long fingers moved delicately over the leather bound tomes that covered the entire wall behind Harry. He watched Snape move back and forth, his robes billowing around him and his face tense in deep concentration. 

"No," he murmured irritably. "That isn't it. What about this one?" 

Harry couldn't help smiling at the distractedness in Snape's voice. He'd never seen the man talk to himself before, and it was... oddly reassuring. 

"Ah, yes, here it is. Now, pay attention, Potter! Most potions I know by heart, but this one, this one is complex and must be prepared and mixed with the utmost care or it will go wrong." 

Snape sounded as though Harry once again was his student, and needed some ... encouragement to wake up from his daydreams. Harry would have laughed if what Snape and he were doing weren't so important. If they couldn't decipher the parchment the Elves had given them, it was quite obvious they would lose an advantage in their fight against the Dark Lord, and if Voldemort were to get this parchment into his hands... Harry shivered and pushed the thought away. It did not bear considering. And the work must be done swiftly, before Lord Voldemort awakened fully, before he could get his hands on the parchment. He might not have any trouble reading it, and understanding it. 

"I knew I had seen this somewhere before." 

"What is it?" 

"A potion, naturally," Snape pointed out. "As you should know, there are thousands and thousands of potions. Even I cannot keep them all in my head at once," Snape explained as though to a dim-witted child. 

"I understand that it is a potion, Snape!" Harry snarled. "But what does it do?" 

"It enhances and clarifies knowledge already in your mind. It's a delicate procedure to create this potion, and time-consuming." 

"So, why don't you make the potion and call me back here once you're finished?" Harry suggested. He didn't look forward to sitting here, in the dungeons with Snape while he was preparing one of his bad-smelling concoctions. 

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" Snape said coolly. "Unfortunately, you need to be present for this one." 

Harry rose, and sighed deeply but realized there was no point in arguing. Snape would never ask him to stay unless it was absolutely necessary. 

"What do you need me to do?" 

"Sit back down, and be quiet." 

Again, Harry did as he was told, and Snape sent him an approving glance. 

"I do not remember you ever listening to me in class, Potter." 

Harry didn't dignify that jab with an answer. He remained silent while Snape walked back and forth in front of the shelves, occasionally turning a page in the large book he was reading from. Occasionally he stopped pacing and scribbled something on a parchment lying on the desk at the far end of the room. 

"Ah yes. Fortunately, I have all the ingredients that I need to create this potion." 

"That's a relief." 

"Don't get smart with me, Potter. Instead, help me gather the things we will need." 

Harry rose from the easy chair and took the parchment that Snape handed him. As their fingers brushed, Harry shivered and looked away. 

"All the herbs are in the cupboard over there." Snape pointed and pulled out his cauldron from under the workbench; it was a huge, black thing that still seemed new, even though Harry was sure the cauldron was at least as old as he was. Snape was notoriously picky about his potions equipment. "Make sure you do not mix any of the ingredients when you rummage around in there." 

Harry snorted irritably. He wasn't eleven years old anymore, but sometimes Snape really kept treating him like a child, as though he had not learnt a single thing in Potions class. Granted, it had never been his strong suit, but he wasn't stupid. Everyone, from the youngest wizard-student to the oldest of witches knew that mixing herbs and potion ingredients carelessly could end you up in the most gruesome of circumstances. 

"Eye of Newt, parsley, scarab-flour, sniper eyes, rat's fur and tar," Harry read and plucked the ingredients from the neatly organized shelves in Snape's cupboard. He stoppered the flasks carefully after taking the amount needed. "Am I supposed to drink this?" 

"No, unfortunately not," Snape told him. "If you did, you might be ... out of commission...for quite some time." 

Harry shuddered and kept retrieving things from the shelves. "I bet you would love that!" 

"Don't tempt me," Snape muttered as he started the fire beneath the cauldron that he had scrubbed neatly for almost five minutes, then rinsed, first with alcohol and then with distilled water. 

Harry had always thought that Snape was overly cautious when cleaning his utensils, but after an excessively unpleasant episode during his seventh year at Hogwarts, involving severe stomach cramps and close to projectile vomiting for more than six days - for which neither Madam Pomfrey, nor Professor Snape had a cure - he had realized how utterly important cleaning his cauldron between making different potions really was, so he said nothing. Although, Harry couldn't help thinking that Snape had indeed known of a cure, but chose not to give it to Harry, simply to prove his point, but he would never be able to know for sure. 

"There, it's hot enough now," Snape said and poured a bottle of brandy into the cauldron. The alcohol sizzled and a strong odor wafted up through the air. Harry coughed as his eyes watered. 

"Back away a little," Snape hissed and went onto the other ingredients. Harry watched Snape cut the parsley into miniscule pieces while he mixed it with tar, then scraped it all into the boiling brandy. 

"Won't the alcohol evaporate completely if you do that?" 

"Yes," Snape said pointedly. 

"Oh." Evidently, that was the point. 

"I need a lock of your hair, Harry," Snape said. "Just stay still." 

Harry backed away as Snape came a little bit too close. "I said, stand still," Snape groused, and Harry closed his eyes as Snape got closer. Tall, forbidding and . . . so attractive. Harry shoved that thought away and forced himself not to tremble when Snape's fingers brushed against the sensitive skin on his neck as he pulled at a lock of hair. Harry was about the same height as the older wizard by now, but he still felt as though Snape loomed over him, and he swallowed hard. 

"Relax, Potter, I am not going to cut your head off." Snape's voice suddenly sounded a little strained and so much softer than usual. Harry opened his eyes and met Snape's gaze. "Almost done," Snape said and Harry couldn't stop the shiver as the cold scissors glided over his skin. 

"What do you need the hair for?" Harry tried to clear his throat. When had his voice become so coarse? 

"It's the ingredient that will aim the potion. For it to work, I need something from you. Hair, nail clippings, saliva, blood or something else that is of your body." 

"Oh, all right," Harry said. "Then what?" 

Harry watched as Snape cut the lock of hair into small pieces and sprinkled them into the potion and stirred. 

"Then the potion needs to boil for a while. And it has to be stirred every five minutes for the remainder of tonight. This is why you must be here. The potion needs to be stirred by the person who made it and the person who is its target." 

Harry sighed. "So, we'll have to do this in shifts?" 

"Yes." 

"And once we're done?" 

"Once we're done, we will move on to the next phase." Snape didn't elaborate, and Harry knew he would not answer if asked, so Harry just walked over to the cauldron, and took the spatula out of Snape's hands. The potions master moved aside, and pulled another book off of a shelf, then made himself comfortable in front of the fireplace. It was clear that he wasn't going to engage in idle chitchat. 

* * *

"It is done," Snape said. A black concoction, thick as syrup, hung in thick rivulets from the spatula that he lifted from the cauldron. 

"I'm glad I won't have to drink that," Harry said before he thought better of it. 

Something that could be described as a smile tugged at the corner of Snape's mouth. 

It was early morning. The only reason Harry could tell was the old clock that hung above Snape's desk. It showed twenty past five. Harry yawned. It had been a long night, with very little conversation. 

"Now what?" 

"Now, you must undress." 

"Undress?" Harry squawked. 

"Yes. You must remove all of your clothing for me to be able to paint the proper symbols on your body." 

Harry bit his lip. "Is that really necessary?" 

"I'm afraid so." 

"But... " 

Snape waved his hand impatiently. "Trust me, Potter. I do not long to be in your unclad presence anymore than you would wish to see me without clothing, but we have no choice in this matter. Please, remove your robes and lie on the bench." 

Hesitantly, Harry did as he was told. Snape's words stung, far more than he had expected, and he lowered his head as he started undoing the buttons of his robes. Methodically, he removed all his garments and told himself that this was no different from going to Madam Pomfrey. Snape would not look at him any differently than she would. Snape would not make fun of him or do anything inappropriate. 

It was then that Harry had to admit to himself that this was vastly different from a visit with Poppy, or any other medi-wizard he had ever visited. Because his feelings for Snape were completely different. For the first time he realized what Jonas Gardner was talking about, that the strong feelings he had for Snape had nothing to do with hatred. 

Harry wanted Snape to do something that would be considered inappropriate. He steeled himself and turned around. Snape wasn't looking at him, but busied himself with the potion, even though Harry couldn't tell what he was doing. It seemed pretty much as though Snape just didn't want to look at him. It both annoyed Harry and made him feel oddly grateful. 

"Very well. Lie down on the bench, on your stomach," Snape said, his voice a mite lower than usual. 

Shivering, Harry noticed that the dungeon was colder now than it had been, and as though Snape had sensed his discomfort, the older man walked over to the fireplace and with his wand made sure that the flames burned brighter. It didn't take long for their warmth to spread through the dungeon, making Harry feel much less uncomfortable. 

"Thank you," Harry said without thinking. 

Snape looked at him oddly but didn't say anything. Harry lay down on the bench, resting his forehead against his arms, trying to relax. It was difficult, knowing that in just a little while Snape was going to start painting his body with intricate symbols. I hope this works, Harry thought to himself. He'd hate to think that he'd gone through this strange night for nothing, and yet...he surprised himself by realizing that he wouldn't want to change a thing. 

Then all of the sudden, warm hands connected with his lower back, spread out like a warm butterfly over his skin. Harry couldn't stop the shiver that rushed through him. He'd never imagined the feel of Snape's hands, at least not consciously, but he had not expected them to be so warm, so...gentle. 

"Relax," Snape said, the warm, velvety voice even lower than before. "I must spread the potion across your body in an even layer. After that, I will write the correct symbols on your skin with the accompanying potion." 

Harry was grateful that he was lying on his stomach, unable to look Snape in the eye. He could feel the blush creeping across his face as the tingles spread through him. How embarrassing to enjoy this so much, to enjoy the smooth hands moving across his back, spreading the potion in a thick layer. If only he'd realized his feelings before. It might have prepared him more, and he could have ignored them. As it was now, he was so taken aback by the truth of his own emotions, realizing that he'd been in denial for a very long time, that he simply couldn't fight it, couldn't steel himself against that touch. 

So good, those hands felt so good on his body. And at the touch of Snape, who hated him more than any other person in this world. How ironic, and how utterly painful. Harry stifled a groan and buried his face deeper, wanting to disappear, to sink through the ground, wanting to cover his head with his arms, but unwilling to move and draw attention to his blushing face. He could swear the blush was spreading across his entire body. It would be a miracle if Snape did not notice. 

As the hands moved up closer to his neck, Harry wanted desperately to arch into the touch, to moan, to ... turn around and pull Snape closer, to kiss him, to.... 

"Oh," he couldn't stifle the gasp as Snape's hands brushed against the nape of his neck. So sensitive there, so sensitive. 

"Am I hurting you?" Snape asked, his voice sharp and a little rough. . 

"No, I... I'm all right. Just go on. Finish this." Harry couldn't help the breathlessness of his own voice, so just clamped his mouth shut, hoping he wouldn't have to speak until this... ordeal was over and done with. He didn't want Snape to notice...really didn't want Snape to notice. 

Please, don't ... don't notice. 

And he was growing hard now, so hard, as Snape's hands moved over his body, down to his lower back and over his buttocks, his thighs. Oh, dear God - did this mean that Snape was going to paint his entire body with these symbols? Would he even have to...? 

"Turn around, Potter," Snape said curtly. 

"Mustn't you finish my back first?" Harry said. 

Just write the symbols first. Give me that much courtesy. Allow me to gather myself before I have to turn around. 

"I need to do this in the right order, Potter, or we might as well just not do it!" Snape hissed. "The potion dries on your skin instantly, but I need to cover your whole body first. Then I will use another common potion to paint the symbols all over you. Now, just turn around and let us get this over with." 

"All right," Harry said and rolled onto his back, lifting his arm and putting it across his face, completely unable to say anything or do anything to excuse what must be plainly obvious. 

It was quiet, so eerily quiet, but Snape didn't say anything, and Harry just heard the other man move over to the cauldron to scoop up more of the sticky potion and start coating the front of his body. 

"You could have warned me," Harry said. 

"Would you have come if I had told you what this would entail?" Snape said, his voice sounding suddenly tired. 

"Yes, I think so. We have to stop Voldemort. No matter how uncomfortable the means to do so might seem to us; we have to." 

"You are correct. I am surprised to hear those words from you, however, Potter. Perhaps you are not so young and so irresponsible as I thought." 

"I'm an adult now. No longer a child. I haven't been for years, not that you have noticed exactly." 

It was odd talking about this while Snape's warm hands still moved over his body, spreading the potion evenly, almost in a caress. Did he have to be so thorough, did he have to be so...gentle? 

"I am nearly done," Snape said as though wanting to reassure him, and as though he needed to change the subject. 

"Is that why you never listen to me? Because you still see me as a child. I'm 24, Snape." 

"I listen to you, all the time," Snape said curtly. 

"Yes, maybe you do at that. You listen, but you don't hear me." 

Harry lifted his hand away from his eyes. "Perhaps that's what I need to do, Severus, make you see that I am no longer a child?" 

"Do be quiet, Potter. And turn around again. We must finish this. The parchment awaits us and we have no time for idle conversation." 

But Snape's voice sounded odd, strangled somehow, as though he was ... perhaps frightened? 

**PART FOUR**

Harry endured Snape's work, forcing his arousal to dissipate, refusing to meet Snape's eyes, but it wasn't all that difficult, because Snape didn't seem inclined to look him in the eye either. Perhaps if he hadn't been so emotionally frayed this would have been an interesting behavior, and something Harry would have thought long and hard about, but right now, he just wanted the whole thing to be over. 

"I am finished," Snape said finally. 

"So, what do I do next?" 

"You stand up, and try to read the parchment," Snape pointed out snidely. 

Harry sighed, forcing himself not to reply the same way. They'd both been awake for nearly forty-eight hours, and they hadn't eaten for quite some time, which meant that they were both even less cordial with one another than usual. Instead of rising to the bait, he crawled off the hard bench, standing up. He was stiff, and the potion felt like it cracked when he moved around, but he hoped that wouldn't matter. 

"Be careful when you move around. I don't know how sensitive the spell is to the markings," Snape said, as though he could read Harry's mind. 

Harry remained standing where he was. "Maybe you could hand it over to me then," he said. 

Snape didn't reply, but moved quickly over to the table and snatched the parchment, handing it over to Harry. 

Harry squinted at it, and at first, it didn't seem like he was going to read it, but then it was as though the script on the parchment began to move and to whisper, slithering across the texture like miniature snakes, sliding their way inside his brain and suddenly making perfect sense - and as Harry read on, realizing they made little sense at all... 

Wizards born of wizard's blood joined by snake, and paired in craft, are what we seek. One mark of death, one mark of light, both chained by hate and bound by heart. 

Eyes of evil they must face, and never turn away in fear. Strength of heart, and strength of mind are skills they need. 

Step into the Labyrinth. Below their hearth, beneath their home, they bring their hearts and hone their minds. Solve the maze as riddles birth. Turning faces away from greed. 

Breathe life into the snake at last. Speak the words into its face. And as it moves, as it lives, its venomous fangs may conquer death. 

"It's fairly obvious what it refers to," Snape said slowly. "And it's impossible to tell what it means." 

Harry stared at Snape, wondering if the Potions master was reading his mind. 

"I know what you're saying. It's pretty obvious to me that what is needed here are two strong wizards who won't budge in the face of danger, who will be strong when tempted by some evil trickery..." 

"Indeed, but do you not see who these words are speaking of?" Snape said in a strangely gentle voice. 

Harry had a sneaking suspicion, but he'd rather hear the logic coming from Snape's mouth. As the words in the text slowly sank in it was eerie the way it fit them both. 

"The Dark Mark, and..." Harry whispered and then brushed his fingers across his forehead where the scar in the shape of a lightning bolt was partially hidden under his bangs. 

"Yes." 

"But ... joined by snake. What does that mean?" 

"I am Slytherin, Potter. You are one of the very few who speak fluent parseltongue. Don't be obtuse." 

"But ... paired in craft? It could mean anything really," Harry pointed out. "It could mean that both wizards should be potions masters or that they have to be experts in the same field of magic." 

"Or it might be enough that we are both professors at Hogwarts," Snape pointed out coolly. "It is our home and our hearth." 

Harry sighed. He hadn't thought of that. The more he looked at the text, it seemed very likely that the wizards born of wizard's blood that the parchment spoke of were he and Snape, but there was one sentence that really bothered him. 

"Chained by hate, and ... bound by heart?" Harry whispered and slowly looked up at Snape. 

Snape sneered and turned his head away. "Is it not obvious that there is both hatred and care between us? People who work the same side such as ourselves, even if we do not like each other, must create a bond in the face of the utter destruction we have faced together, Potter." 

For some reason Harry didn't think that was what the parchment was referring to, but perhaps it did fit them both anyway. Perhaps it referred to the fact that Snape truly hated him and Harry ... he ... Harry cut off that particular train of thought. He couldn't really wrap his mind around something so big, at least not quite yet. Perhaps it was enough that he had realized that he didn't truly hate Snape anymore? Maybe he never had. 

"'Step into the Labyrinth', then ... where is that maze? I doubt the text refers to the labyrinth at Hogsmeade. It can't be older than a century." 

"No, it is not. Furthermore, Hogsmeade and its labyrinth is not exactly Hogwarts grounds and the text does refer to our homes. Much as the thought of it is quite pathetic, we both consider Hogwarts itself our home," Snape admitted. 

The part of Harry that had been conditioned by Muggles for so long wanted to point out that it was impossible for the one who had once created the parchment to know all these things. But after living and working more than half his life in the magical world, he had learned not to question such things. Therefore he kept silent while Snape continued to talk aloud, seemingly mostly to himself. 

"The line about the labyrinth is one of the things I cannot seem to figure out. Perhaps Albus will have more information. He knows Hogwarts better than anyone else, and he might be able to give us at least a hint of where to start looking." 

"We'd better get over to the Headmaster then and speak to him about what we have found." 

"Yes, and I do believe that we must destroy the parchment." 

"Let's go then," Harry said and started moving toward the door. 

Snape cleared his throat, and Harry halted, just now realizing that he was still smeared from head to toe in the sticky potion, and that he was still rather ... naked. He turned around and felt the blush creep up on his face when he saw the amused look on Snape's face. 

"You'll need help getting rid of that, unfortunately," Snape pointed out. "It is quite difficult to wash off." 

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Harry asked. 

"I'll go with you," Snape said coolly. "The bathroom is right there." 

Harry looked over his shoulder and steeled himself. There was no point in arguing and if he protested too wildly, Snape might understand that his reaction earlier hadn't just been the hormones of a still relatively young man running rampant, and that the erection pointing toward him had been caused by more personal reasons. He wasn't really ready to deal with that yet, if he ever would be. 

So, instead of protesting, Harry simply entered the bathroom and sighed in contentment as the warmth there enveloped him. The floor radiated with heat, and he stepped into the shower without a backwards glance. He turned on the water and closed his eyes. The tension drained from him slowly as the warm water sluiced over his body. 

"Here," said a low voice and Harry opened his eyes only to be met by a naked Snape closing the door to the shower stall behind him. Harry could practically feel his eyes widening. 

"What did you expect?" the older man snapped. "That I'd stand outside with a brush, fully clothed, trying to dab away at the potion? I hope my nudity doesn't offend you too much, Potter." 

Harry was still too shocked to even get a word out, and when he watched Snape grab the soap, working up a lather, realizing that he was going to put his hands on him again, he was about ready to bolt. 

"Don't look like that, Potter," Snape said and his eyes grew wary. "I'm not going to hurt you and touching you is not a hardship. I have done so before, quite recently if I may remind you. This is no different from me rubbing the potion onto your body." 

Oh yes, it's quite different, Harry wanted to say. You're naked. Here, in the shower. Naked -with me. And I just realized how much I want you. That's how different this is! 

But of course, he didn't manage to say anything. He just kept staring at Snape, pretty sure he looked much like a house-elf caught with his hands in the cookie jar. 

"If you're worried about repeating your physical reaction. Don't. It's quite natural for a young man such as yourself to react to intimate touch, even if it is someone like me doing the touching." 

Snape's voice was very flat, and clinical, and Harry narrowed his eyes, looking at Snape more closely, and something burned deep down in those dark eyes, something like ... hurt? It was gone fast enough that Harry thought he might have imagined it, but not fast enough not to make him wonder. And it also made him relax. 

"Don't mind me, Professor," Harry said. "I apologize. It's just that I find your touch... " 

"Repulsive?" Snape said with a lifted eyebrow. 

"Arousing," Harry said. 

"You find my touch arousing?" Snape said, as though he wanted to make sure that he had heard right. 

"Exactly." 

"And what - exactly - is that supposed to mean?" 

"It means that it's humiliating to react this way to your touch. I know you don't like me very much." Harry refused to look Snape in the eye. 

"I don't find touching you ... repulsive, Potter. I would advise you to relax." 

"Why don't you call me Harry - Severus. After all, you're just about to touch my body all over - again. It seems kind of ridiculous to be so formal." 

"Very well, Harry. Let's get this over with, shall we? I am sure Dumbledore is getting rather impatient with us. Our findings are quite important after all." 

Harry nodded, and wished they had more time. More time to talk, more time to explore this new thing that was going on between them, but their lives, perhaps the entire existence of the world was in their hands, and this was no time to indulge in emotional exploration, no matter how unexpected and tempting it was. 

Harry got out of it rather unscathed, and with less embarrassment than he had expected. His skin burned from the furious cleaning, but he was barely half hard. If it was because of the vigorous rubbing or because he had barely slept for two days, he couldn't tell, but he was grateful. 

They both got dressed and Harry tried not to look at Snape too much, but now that he had recognized the nature of his true feelings for the Potions master, it was difficult to pull his gaze away from the forbidding, but very attractive, figure. This was going to make their future task even more difficult. 

END part 1. To be Continued. 

* * *

  
If you enjoyed this story, please return to the SEARCH RESULTS page and leave a comment, or send an e-mail to [ladykardasi](mailto:crochetalong@gmail.com)  



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